


A babysitter's guide to Stiles Stilinski, by Peter Hale with extreme prejudice

by Wineabout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, And recovery!, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mayor Talia Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, POV Alternating, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Peter is stuck babysitting a grown ass Stiles, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retired Left-Hand Peter Hale, Snark, Steter Secret Santa 2020, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars, Stiles gets attacked by a rouge alpha, Stiles is 20, Strangers to bantering idiots, The Hale Family, Werewolf Culture, discussion of therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:09:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wineabout/pseuds/Wineabout
Summary: When Talia's political qualifications are in question, Peter is forced to help improve the family image by becoming a volunteer for the local werewolf-attack support group... Too bad Stiles has never cared about image.---“Who comes up with this stuff?” Stiles asked, mollified.“Can you think of a better way to market assisting with werewolf attack survivors?”“I just didn’t think dog puns would be popular,” Stiles said, with a slight shrug of his good shoulder. His hair flopped when he raised his head to look at Peter again.“I believe it’s supposed to seem approachable - like we’re sharing the joke.”“Oh, and are you? You think this is funny?”Peter sneered and took his pamphlet away.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 203





	A babysitter's guide to Stiles Stilinski, by Peter Hale with extreme prejudice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> Happy steter secret santa Gryvon!! I hope you like this.

Since his sister had been elected into office instead of ruling the community with her Pack-Alpha status, questionable territory connections and heavy use of rather unsavory tactics…. Peter was bored. Her abrupt election after the town had sympathized with his pack following a rash of anti-werewolf acts, including attempting to turn his pack home into a pyre, meant he was the youngest person in the family to be retired. 

Upstanding Talia Hale couldn’t be sending her shady brother to have things _taken care of_ now that she was kissing babies and cutting ribbons. Of course, she was still maintaining her more bloodthirsty methods in guarding her territory. Mayor Hale just had to do it like every other new-to-power politician: quietly. Using people she couldn’t openly be affiliated with to spread the blame a little further than her (freshly) squeaky clean, model of society, family. 

When Peter was slogging through lists of lowkey shake-downs and threatening gestures he used to think he would love to retire into his own interest projects. Perhaps build his own little syndicate somewhere or tour European vineyards but, he was landlocked by his sister’s political career. Beacon Hills it turned out, when he didn’t have people to shred, was the dullest little town in the middle of the most boring county in the least interesting part of California. 

However, as bored as he was, having Talia waltz into his apartment on a Saturday afternoon was not the enrichment he was looking for. 

“The shine of our recent tragedy is starting to wear off for the community - People are getting more critical of me. My qualifications,” Talia lamented in that quiet unaffected way she had that made Peter want to rip his own nails out. 

“I’m sorry, Tally,” Peter drawled in a sincere tone as he stared at his ceiling; neck leaned back against the top of his wingback armchair and his legs crossed. “I didn’t know you had qualifications.”

Talia shot him a slightly flatter look before she helped herself to a seat on the sofa. She leaned forward and adjusted a few stones in his table top sand garden; Peter narrowed his eyes at the disruption to his zen. 

“I’m serious,” Talia continued on, as if he was equally invested in her concern. “If we’re to keep the momentum through to the next elections we need some decent press.”

Peter smirked, opening his mouth to point out he had been in more than one local tabloid recently but Talia raised one well manicured finger at him and he could only roll his eyes instead. 

“Your bare ass caught with an omega in Beacon Valley, on the front page of a local rag, and an article about your eligible bachelor status is not helping Peter.” Her disapproval creased her nose. “Which brings me to why I came. You need to clean up.” Talia was leaning forward, her gaze warming up to a red glow of Pack-Alpha authority. 

“Tally, come on, I’m neater than any of your brood,” Peter beseeched obtusely with a grand sweeping gesture around his spotless apartment. He didn’t say that in his excess time he had taken to deep cleaning the grout. Besides, he had done the decent thing and skipped to a different town to seduce multitudes of omegas into public indecency. She was being ungrateful. 

Talia sighed at him enough to disturb the air between them. She stood before she reached into her purse and dropped a large envelope on the table. 

“Have I been served?” Peter mocked as he eyed it. 

“You’ll be doing the serving, actually,” Talia smirked. Her nail tapped on the label of the envelope to direct his gaze. 

Peter leaned forward and his brows flew up as he gasped with bone deep indignation. He read from the envelope, “Werewolf Acceptance Group: Volunteer Orientation Package - You have got to be kidding me. You cannot expect me to go handing out pamphlets and organizing bake sales with those pyramid scheming, glassy eyed-”

“Stop, Peter. Just because they’re cheerful enough to give an entire pack gastritis doesn’t mean they don’t do good work. They have. Every town with affiliates from their orientation program has a much higher rate of bitten werewolf pack bonding, fewer violent human interactions, and-”

“And a direct increase in morons?” Peter finished with a sneer as he crossed his arms and glared at his sister. “If you think I am remotely interested in promoting peace and love in an era that frowns on acid-”  
  
Talia sighed again, deep, and set the same look on him that could silence twenty-eight werewolves screaming over leftover birthday cake. “I don’t think you’ll like it. I don’t think you’re suited for it, but I do think that you need to be pushed into something that contributes to this town! You want to continue helping the pack - help me with this.”

Peter snarled at her, wet and angry, then he snatched the envelope on the table. “And if I refuse?” 

“I’m not asking,” Talia said lightly as she breezed over, kissed him on the hair then stole a muffin off the cooling rack on the kitchen table on her way out. 

Peter waited until his door was closed and he heard her lock it with her copy of the key before he muttered, “I’m not asking,” with a bobble of his head. 

The orientation document was thirty pages long and forced him to pull up several brightly colored Youtube videos that he skimmed on double playback speed. 

“Fuck me,” he hissed into his hands after he’d finished off an online quiz and sent his certificate and ID card to the printer. 

___

Stiles hated hospitals, particularly visiting them, but waking up in them with blurry vision and pain lancing through his entire body wasn’t so great either. It took him a moment to blink his greasy feeling eyes clear enough to look around his curtained off bed and down at his bandaged up body.

His arm was carefully laid out, shoulder immobilized and wrapped up in a constricting way that filled him with the urge to jump out of bed and flex all of his joints. Could claustrophobia be applied to tight bandages? He’d have to look into that - or maybe this was a fear of being tied up? That would be more of a bummer. 

“Hello?” Stiles rasped. His mouth was too dry from hanging open in hospital air. The curtain around his bed screeched on the track, fluttering wildly before his father was shoving his way through it with a take-away cup of coffee. Coffee sloshed out of the little cut out in the lid and dribbled to the floor.

“Kid, jesus kiddo. You’re awake,” John leaned down and immediately kissed his son on the forehead before he bumped his own against him and just paused for a moment. “Kid,” he added as he pulled away to rub his hand through Stiles’ hair. 

It was cute how much having a werewolf Scott and a new werewolf deputy had really rubbed off on his dad. Stiles smiled up at him, brow pinched, and his expression more of a beaten up grimace. “Hey. Uh. How long have I been out?”

“Just a day,” John assured as he pressed the call button with an impatient few pulses. “They put you through a bit of surgery, patched you up.”

“Sheriff Stilinski?” A nurse called quietly as he came through the hospital room and let himself into the curtained space as well. He was dragging a vitals tower behind him and smiling gently. “Oh sweetheart, you’re awake.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose up and took a little sniff, beta. His own omega-in-distress stink was still prominent though it smelled sponged off of him and covered with rust and antiseptic. “Ye-up,” Stiles said flatly, “Stiles is fine.” 

The nurse nodded, “Of course, of course, I’m Brady Klein, I’m your nurse for today. Can you tell me where you are and what season it is?” 

“Hospital, uh, winter?” Stiles said and leaned back into his pillow, twitching a bit and shifting his feet on the bed only to stop and grimace at the pull of bandages on his thigh against the skinny hospital blanket. 

“That’s great, Stiles. So you were brought in last night, it’s currently 8:00 pm and you’ve been out for about 22 hours.” Brady bustled, taking off Stiles’ leads and replacing them with a pulse ox. clip before he pushed a thermometer into Stiles’ mouth. “Can you tell me what you remember about the incident?” 

“About the attack, you mean?” Stiles said, around the thermometer before he was shushed by a raised finger and made to wait for the machine to beep and the plastic wrapped probe to slide out from under his tongue before he continued. “I was just outside of town, in the woods, waiting for my friend so we could - hang out.” AKA do secret werewolf training to help Scott fine tune his werewolf senses. “I got there first so I went to our usual spot and an alpha smelling wolf in beta shift came at me from the trees. They had Pack-Alpha eyes and were -” 

“Take your time, Stiles,” Brady assured but he was poised with a pen and an overly kind smile. 

Stiles wrinkled his nose a bit, shifted on the bed; a fresh pain stab of pain radiated through all of his injuries. He nearly whimpered but clenched his teeth instead and continued, “He said he wanted pack, he chased me down, bit me, clawed me up a little and tried to drag me somewhere but my friend showed up and - I don’t know what happened after that.”

“Well you’re very lucky, Stiles. Omegas don’t usually survive an attack like that,” Brady was nodding at him and Stiles couldn’t help but stare at the bullshitness of that statement. Did anyone usually survive an attack like that? 

“Sure. So when can I go home,” Stiles said mulishly with grit teeth. 

Brady made a sympathetic face and reached out to pat him; Stiles was tempted to see if he’d gotten fangs yet as he eyed the hand up and tilted aside to avoid the touch. 

Brady spoke like he didn’t even notice, “As you may know, with post transformation-capable attacks there’s a lot of procedural steps we have to get through. Your father already consented and you’ve been given a dose of anti-bite rejection already. The werewolf who attacked you hasn’t been found yet so no samples were available to make a specific dose but the generic brand is statistically excellent.” 

Right, bite-rejection. Stiles felt his head swirl and the blood leave his face. Sure, so he’d survived being shredded but now he had to worry about spontaneously spewing black goop until he.. OH fuck. Until he became a _werewolf_. 

“Stiles, it’ll be okay,” his dad’s voice beside him was soothing and calm. Stiles felt a warm hand resting on his chest, rubbing circles just under his collarbones where he was bony. It helped him take a deep breath. 

“So what now,” Stiles prompted, slightly wheezy as he looked to Brady. Unaffected, mockingly sweet, stupid faced Brady. 

“Now, we keep you under surveillance. If we can find a WAG volunteer to be your orientation facilitator then we’ll discharge you with them, if not then we’ll have you moved to the outpatient facility until you transform or the next full moon has passed.”

“That’s in a month!” Stiles croaked with a flail of his unencumbered right hand. His IV line swayed and ached. 

“Most transformations take place within 1-14 days,” Brady responded, which was not as comforting as his face was trying to make it seem. 

“Stiles,” his dad interrupted another thought spiral. “They’ve got a new volunteer in town - I’ve been talking to Derek at the station and he said that his mother was trying to support the program here.” 

“Why can’t I just -” Stiles gasped a bit before he closed his eyes. He couldn’t just go home. If he transformed for the first time with his dad there… he didn’t know what would happen. It’s not like Scott could come and babysit him 24/7. 

Brady cleared his throat a little; Stiles lolled his neck to glare at him. “I’ll be back with some pain management in ten minutes, just rest, let us handle all of these little details.” He had that tone people used to talk to little kids and omegas who made the mistake of asking a dick for directions. 

“I expect my son to be kept up on all these little details,” John said with a little bit of Sheriff and a lot of annoyed father. Brady nodded and packed up his vitals station. 

The curtain fluttered as the nurse left them alone. Stiles could feel his pulse in his entire body. The smell of the hospital was grating on his nerves. He turned his head a little to look at his dad, a wet drip streaking down his cheek to absorb into his pillow as he did. “Dad,” he whispered. 

“It’s okay. I know. I know Stiles, but it’ll be okay.” 

It wasn’t the first time his dad had tried to convince him of that. His mother hadn’t made it. But - Scott had. Stiles tried not to think about his own luck or the odds as he drifted on his pain induced exhaustion. 

___

Peter groaned, his phone ringing interrupting his audiobook and bath. He sat up from his deep soaked angle to reach for it on the ledge. It was waterproof, he didn’t bother with more than a cursory shake of his hand before he was swiping his finger across the screen.

“Peter Hale,” he answered, tired and only borderline polite. He recognized the hospital’s number. 

“Hello Mr. Hale, I’m Val, a social worker at Beacon Hills memorial. There’s been an attack in the woods and we’ve got an omega young man in need of a placement.” 

For a moment Peter is quiet, contemplative, free hand swirling through the foam layer on the top of his bath. “Go on.” 

It had been a long time, nearly four years, since a Pack-Alpha had enough gall to stumble power-drunk through Hale territory. News of his retirement must have been having an emboldening effect on the greater supernatural community. 

“His name is… Well he likes to go by Stiles. He’s the Sheriff’s son. He’s come through surgery fine, he’ll be available for discharge in two days. He may require some support with his injuries but we’ll have home care available.” Val’s voice was clinical and precise. 

“The Sheriff’s omega son was attacked,” Peter repeated before he hummed, “You know, I’m barely qualified. The state really wants to hand such precious cargo to me?” He drawled, smarmy, a smirk curling up his mouth at the huff on the other end of the line. It wouldn’t be his fault if the agency decided they were making a mistake. 

“You’ve passed your record checks,” Val’s voice doesn’t hide her condescension; it was amazing what could be cleaned off a record and further what could be claimed as pack right. “He doesn’t do well in hospitals, he’s already struggling here. Now, I have an injured young man who needs help. Are you accepting the placement or not, Mr. Hale.” 

Peter thought about Talia barging into his apartment again to chew him out if he declined. The last time he’d displeased her she’d made him babysit nine of his snotty little cousins for months. Surely one weepy bite-surviver was better than that. 

“Fine,” Peter answered with a decisive thunk of his head back against the lip of the tub. “I accept the placement.”

“Excellent,” Val said with cheer that sounded offensively false. “I’ll email you the rest of his information as well as the therapy and medical appointment schedules. To confirm, you have Derek Hale and Cora Hale listed as your approved respite sources. Stiles is not to be left alone at any time, should you be unavailable and unable to arrange supervision call me immediately and I will provide emergency support.”

Peter smirked, mouth opening before there’s a tsk over the phone. Val’s voice gets quieter; a little frightening. “And Mr. Hale, a _social trip_ to Beacon Valley isn’t an emergency.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't originally planned to post this in chapters but I found a plot hole in editing that needs shoveling in. The whole thing will be up in the next week ish!! 
> 
> Let me know if there's anything I need to tag or warn for!!


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